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another draft

Unheimlichkeit ( the breaking of ground)

a boy a boy came to me
with wads of paper from the Lamma
welfare shelter I greased the pirates
what clutches yr dairy air?
my grandmother Jean was dissolving
into Northern Irish gravy oh lottery
to the grand land of dreams
hidden Star Wars figures
forgotten on light bulbs
this is the smell of burning plastic
this is a faint signal from Portadown
to Milton Keynes to Las Vegas agog
with crackes and shells alive alive
oh oh this is the piecing
together of extra bits
is that you in front of me
in a rocket ship with Neil Diamond
blasting we're coming to America
today today but I'm in Elblag
Poland among Teutonic bones
and there is a shadow of a nun
in her spires I've dreamed
of horses I've dreamed
of lands I've never seen


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I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…